


Polycotton

by dechagny



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, No Spoilers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 02, The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019) Backstory, The Captain is Gay (Ghosts TV 2019), the captain tries not to be emotionally constipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dechagny/pseuds/dechagny
Summary: The Captain is in hospital and he's trying to find the words to say goodbye.
Relationships: The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Polycotton

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of a birthday gift for my friend Emily. Happy Belated Birthday! I'm sorry it's late!
> 
> Also, I wrote/planned most of this before season 2 aired so...apologies if anyone is looking for that sweet, sweet, season 2 content - you won't find it here!

Somebody had starched the polycotton bedsheets only a few hours earlier – the stiff, crisp material, clean and scented with carbolic, felt like briars against his skin. This, coupled with the surprisingly bright glare of the bare yellow bulb above his head, and the sound of mumbled cries from across the room, made his stomach clench and twist more than the faint tang of iron and sweat hanging in the air.

It didn’t feel like something he could ever get used to, and he hoped and sometimes, prayed, that he would never have to. It was too clinical, and as much as he loved the order and protocol that hospitals brought, it was a kind of order that meant he could do extraordinarily little. All he could do was wait – torture for a man who revelled in taking control.

At least the nurses seem friendly, he thought, consoling himself as he stared down at the floor and the dried, dark lump lodged in the grout. He shuddered and tried not to dwell on what the dirt could be and where it came from, and instead looked up to the ceiling, willing time to either pass quickly or to go backwards. Back to the field and the mud, to the whistle, flash, and-

“You came,” said a raspy voice from the bed, snapping the Captain back from his reverie and making him drop his gaze with a start. “No need to look so surprised,” the man continued, smirking, his heart not convinced by the action and his mouth quivering. “I’m not dead yet.”

The Captain, now self-conscious of how he had allowed himself to rest his arm on the bed, sat back in his chair and smoothed out his jacket, clearing his throat. He wanted to smile, but he couldn’t make his mouth turn that way, no matter how much he tried. “You’re not going to die, Edward.”

“You only call me Edward when you’re angry at me or worried,” he said, rolling his eyes fondly as he tried to wet his cracked lips. “Look, it was going to happen eventually, so might as well get it over and done with,” he sighed, watching the Captain pour a glass of water for him from the jug on the table. “If I knew you were going to play nurse and call me by my pet name, I might have tried dying sooner.”

With a gentle hand, the Captain helped Edward to sit up, the mattress springs creaking beneath him, and held the cool glass to his lips. Edward could only manage a few sips and soon waved the Captain away again, coughing and grimacing. The Captain placed the glass back on the table with his lips pressed tightly together and lowered himself into the visitor's chair.

Edward’s weak, comforting fingers shot out at alarming speed for a man so sick and gripped the Captain’s wrist. “You’re angry at me,” he said.

“Of course, I am,” the Captain answered, raising his chin. “You’re not the one who’s supposed to be in that bed. You disobeyed a direct order from your Captain.”

“A thank you would be nice,” Edward mumbled, slipping his hand away. The sudden absence of his warmth made The Captain shiver.

“I’m not going to thank you for being reckless and disobedient.”

“Then thank me for saving your life.”

The Captain cast his eyes down and ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, shaking his head so gently you could barely tell it was moving unless you were paying close attention to the tension ebbing and flowing in his neck. He was about to murmur something when Edward rolled his eyes and sighed. The deep movement of his chest made him wince.

“You can’t,” he said, smiling bitterly. “I don’t know why I thought you could.”

“Come now, Edward, that’s not fair,” the Captain gabbled with a frown, a crease burying itself deep in his forehead. “You know I-“

“I know,” he said softly, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't blame you."

Before the incident that put him there, Edward, or Strutton, as the Captain would usually call him in front of the squad, was a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow. He whistled tunes, even when it seemed inappropriate to do so, and his cheeks always had a healthy, rosy tint to them, even when streaked with mud. There was a specific curl of his sandy-blonde hair that never wanted to sit flat against his head, no matter how much Brylcreem he put in it.

But now, his lips were too dry to let him whistle, and even if they weren’t, the wounds in his chest and lungs wouldn’t let him. His face was a ghostly grey, and the sparkle of his emerald eyes had dulled to nothing more than that of a dirtied glazed window. Despite everything that had been taken from Edward, he still had that damned curl falling over his forehead. When Edward coughed and wheezed again, it fell into his eyes, making the Captain’s fingers twitch. He curled his hands on his thighs to stop himself from reaching out and brushing it away from his browbone.

Perhaps, if he had stared at Edward’s profile for long enough, and a nurse hadn’t walked by to mop his brow and replace the jug of water, he might have allowed himself to push it back. After all, who else would be there to see him do it? The man in the bed across the room had fallen into a medicinal slumber.

“Time to change your dressing, Mr Strutton,” the nurse said kindly. “Captain, would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

Edward’s protest stopped the Captain as he rose from his seat. “I don’t want my dressing changed.”

The Nurse tutted and pulled the duvet from Edward regardless. “The wound is infected, Mr Strutton,” she said with all the gravitas of a tired schoolmaster. “We need to clean and dress it regularly.”

“It can wait,” he insisted, trying to bat the nurse away with his tired arms. “Can’t you see I have a visitor? He might be the last visitor I get,” he said, only half-joking.

With a heavy sigh, the nurse rolled her eyes and looked to the Captain with raised eyebrows. When he did nothing to help but shrug, she turned back to Edward. “Well, he certainly will be if we don’t get you cleaned up.”

“I’m going to die regardless,” he said helplessly. “Let me have a few moments of peace before I go, I beg you.”

Holding himself tall with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, the Captain cleared his throat and fixed Edward with a stern gaze. He felt his gut lurch at the pathetic sight of his right-hand man but told himself not to look away. Not again. Not like he had in the dugout when…

“Lieutenant Strutton,” he said boldly. “You will let this kind, stalwart lady change your dressing…and that is a direct order.”

Edward reeled and stopped his fighting, staring back at his Captain with barely a blink despite the heaviness seeping over his reddened eyelids. He tilted his head on the pillow, and, a second later, the Captain tilted his head too in response, his jaw clenching.

“Fine,” Edward said, waving a dismissive hand. “ _Fine_ , I’ll have them changed. But you aren’t going anywhere, _sir_ ,” he added when the nurse looked between them with a bewildered expression. “What I mean to say is…I shall be glad of the company. I’ve spent too many days here on my own and I would quite like to hear about the action I’m missing.”

The Captain took a deep breath in through his nose, and when it was clear the nurse wasn’t about to object to him staying in the room, he relaxed his shoulders a fraction and cleared his throat, gripping his hands behind his back even tighter. “Very well. But I’m afraid there’s little to say - everything has returned to normal. We’re on guard in case of another surprise attack, but that’s about it.”

Edward nodded as the nurse pulled his shirt over his head to expose the bandage wrapped tightly around his chest which, despite having been changed the day before, was now festered with brown blood and flecked with yellow-green spots. “Everyone else managed to make it out unscathed then?”

“Thankfully,” the Captain agreed, raising his chin a little to see over the nurse’s shoulder. It only occurred to him a few moments later to take a small step to the left to see Edward better, and Edward, noticing, smiled from the corner of his mouth.

“I suppose you’ll only have two slips for a while,” the Lieutenant said, grinning that cheeky grin that usually made the world seem right again, only this time, the smile didn’t reach his sinking eyes.

He wished he would stop smiling when he didn't mean it.

The Captain pursed his lips together and bounced on the balls of his feet. “I hardly think now is the time to be thinking about cricket, Lieutenant.”

“It’s better than thinking about the hole in my chest.”

“Yes…I suppose so…” the Captain said as the nurse finished unwinding the bandage. What once used to be a smooth and marble-like view had now become like a battlefield itself. Red, raised, and angry – a noticeable blemish on the imperfect perfection that was Edward Strutton. The bullet had entered his body a little too close to his heart for the Captain’s liking, and now it was if he was watching his humanity drain from him as liquid oozed from the wound. “Good lord.”

All the colour had effused from the Captain’s face, and he had to sit back down in the chair to stop himself from giving the nurse a new patient.

“Have a drink, Captain,” the nurse told him without looking up from Edward’s wound as she washed it with warm water and a caring hand. “It will all be over soon.”

“With any luck,” Edward said dryly, closing his eyes.

“Always with the dramatics, Lieutenant,” the Captain sighed, a hint of fondness blossoming on his tongue.

“Says the man who was about to faint.”

When the nurse had finished washing and wrapping Edward, she slipped a clean shirt over his head and gave him something to numb the pain he was feeling. She left with a nod of her head to the Captain, her arms bundled with the soiled bandages and shirt.

“Is she treating you well?” The Captain asked when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “The nurse, I mean. I didn’t catch her name.”

“Button,” Edward said through a yawn. “Heather, I think. She’s one of the more genial ones,” he agreed. “Her parents have a nice house out in the country…they’re opening it up to military men. Immensely proud of the fact she is too.”

The Captain nodded and forced himself to smile. “Good. It’s nice to see you have an ally in her here.”

“There’s only one ally I need,” Edward said, letting his hand hang over the side of the bed. His clammy palm was face up, and his fingers were beckoning him closer.

Much to Edward’s frustration and amusement, the Captain just stared at his skinny hand. It was only when the tears began to twinkle in the corners of Edward’s eyes that he silently forced his hand of lead to rise, lacing their fingers together.

They sat like that in the quiet for a few moments, hearing only their in-sync breathing and the laughter of a group of nurses as a patient on the other side of the wall flirted with them. Edward’s chest had a quiet rattle as he breathed in and out – every breath laborious. The Captain’s uniform rustled as he brought up his other hand, clasping Edward’s as if he were trying to tether him to the bed. His fingers brushed gently over Edward’s sinewy wrist before pushing themselves firmly against his skin.

If Edward knew the Captain was counting each beat of his heart and measuring its strength, he gave no sign of it.

“I’m tired, Cap.”

Squeezing his hand tighter, the Captain nodded and clenched his jaw. “I know. It’s time to get some sleep.”

“Stay with me,” Edward implored. The Captain noticed the blue tinge on his lips and brought his hand to his mouth as he spoke. “Don’t let go until I’m asleep.”

“I promise,” the Captain said, trying to squeeze warmth into Edward’s bones. “I hope you know that I-“

Edward hushed him, still smiling despite his increasingly faltering pulse. “You don’t have to. I know you find it difficult. You’ve said all you need to.”

“Not in as many words as I should.”

“But that’s not you,” Edward said with a frail smile.

Despite himself, the Captain smiled from the corner of his mouth and ran his thumb over the back of Edward’s hand. “No…no, it’s not.” He sighed and leaned his chin lightly on their clasped fingers. “But if it’s the last chance I have to say it…”

“Now who’s being dramatic? I thought you said I wasn’t going to die?” Edward raised a pale brow and suppressed a laugh. His eyes were beginning to flutter closed, but there was still enough energy in him to keep fighting the exhaustion.

The Captain’s cheeks began to colour. “Edward…” He swallowed the lump forming in this throat. “Teddy.”

Hearing his gravelled, tobacco voice curl around his nickname, Edward seemed to relax completely. His shoulders drew down, and his heart skipped a beat. Something the Captain knew as he continued to map Edward’s pulse. He probably knew it better than his own.

“I feel the same,” Edward whispered, his voice barely more than a breeze. “I always have.”

He couldn’t find the words to respond. Not for some time anyway, and each second he let tick by was another second of life he was wasting, but whether it was his or Edward’s time he was squandering was unclear.

“Then what happened?” asked a gentle voice from beside him.

When the Captain looked up from their enclosed hands, it was dark. The night was an ink-spill and filled with the comforting pinpricks of stars that had been there that night eighty years before. Even without a corporeal form, the wind was biting his cheeks and making his skin prickle.

Pat was sitting beside him on the fountain, a sad and melancholic expression clouding his kind, sympathetic face as he waited for a response.

“He passed on,” the Captain said absently, his eyebrows knitted together on his unageing forehead. “It happened peacefully, which is all you can hope for really. I, uh…I kissed his hand, and I said thank you. Thank you for everything. Then I went to fetch Heather and…I left.” He cleared his throat and looked down at the gravel, grateful when Pat reached out to tap his knee. “It should’ve been me that day, Patrick. It was a senseless waste of life.”

“War is full of it,” Pat agreed, pulling on a warm, comforting smile. “But he bought you more time, and I’m sure you would’ve done the same for him if you could.”

The Captain smiled slightly and gave pat a grateful bob of his head. “I suppose…it’s just a shame. It felt like his sacrifice was for nothing when I didn’t survive the war myself.”

“Understandable,” Pat said, 'breathing' in the cold night air. “But I’m glad he made the sacrifice anyway because it meant you got to die here in the end. You got to see Heather again and…I don’t speak for everyone, but you’ve certainly enriched my death, and I’m proud to call you a friend.”

At a loss for words, the Captain sniffed and smoothed his hand over his chest, his mind racing. The anniversary of the loss of Edward was always the same, which was strange, as the Captain assumed that with each passing year, it would get more comfortable to bear. And it did…for a time, anyway. It was his own death that made it feel different. That brought back the horror of it…because now he knew how it felt to be the one to go and the one to be left behind.

“Thank you, Patrick,” he said, his eyes crinkling at their corners. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“I mean it, Cap.” Pat stood from the fountain and nodded back towards the house. “Food Club starts in a bit if you still fancy joining us,” he chirped, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

The Captain flashed him a satisfied expression. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Left alone in the comforting silence of the grounds, the Captain raised his face to the moon and the stars, allowing the gentle light to caress the contours of his features. He pressed the hand that had held Edward's to his breast and closed his eyes, feeling the phantom touch of starched polycotton beneath his limbs.


End file.
